


One on One

by NegansOtherWife



Series: Tumblr Requests [10]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Smut, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegansOtherWife/pseuds/NegansOtherWife
Summary: “Go on, fight me. I dare you.” He coaxes.





	One on One

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr request! x

You were _not_ a jealous woman.

You weren’t!

But God help you, your husband brought out the worst in you sometimes. And even when Negan wasn’t physically present, he still somehow held the ability to create havoc in your life. Then—as if you didn’t suffer enough—there was Tanya and her constant bragging as if being the pick of the night was something to write home about. It wasn’t!

So why did it bother you? You’d worked so hard to become the ‘indifferent one’, the wife who hadn’t seen Negan as anything more than a means to an end. A glorified, mouthy and violent meal ticket!

 _So why_ , you quietly deliberate with a huff, _were you so fucking bothered!_

The clicking of your heels against the metal flooring seems to punctuate your rage laced thought. Just the look of satisfaction on her face when you’d stomped out of the parlor was enough to set you off and all you could do at the moment is desperately try to convince yourself that you weren’t angry. Tanya would _not_ receive that satisfaction. 

You were annoyed at best. 

An intrusive thought pushes at the forefront of your mind, working its way into your headspace: _Hasn’t she already?_ _Tanya won this round and you were made out to be the hopeless pining loser._  

It was enough to drive a person mad. The way she had goaded you at lunch, boasting about how she had orgasmed multiple times last night while you’d laid in bed…

Well, you’d laid in bed expectantly waiting for a knock on your door that had never come. 

“This is bullshit!” You quietly hiss to yourself, kicking off your heels in a sudden display of a childish tantrum. With a brief flash of satisfaction, you watch as the grossly unnecessary pieces of footwear go sailing down the hallway at an impressive rate.

“Fuck this stupid wives uniform and fuck the rules.” You add a bit smugly, trying and failing to mimic your husband’s slow southern drawl. 

_Where was he even from anyway?_

From down the hall, a voice sounds and you recognize the gentle voice to be Edna, the cleaning lady. She was assigned to Negan’s personal floor and currently pushing sixty. Coincidentally, she also happened to be your only chance of a decent conversation these days. She pokes her head out of the doorframe, mop in hand.“Y/N, did you need something, dear?”

“No, Ed.” You hastily assure her, padding down the hallway barefoot and stepping across the threshold so she’ll hear you better.

“Just ranting.” You add, watching her return to mopping the floor of Negan’s weight room. 

“Tanya?” She gives you a knowing look and you nod in acknowledgment. “She’s just a spiteful little bitch with too much time on her hands, hun.”

The rarely and colorful explicit from Edna, a sweet old woman, causes you to let out an unladylike snort. 

What was that saying about elderly people being wise? 

Whatever it was you were just glad that you had Edna on your side to help you see reason and periodically talk you off of the edge—you’d surely go mad without her. Still, your anger could not be abated. What was stopping you from going back and slamming Tanya’s pretty little head into the ground? 

“What did she do this time?” She asks, hip cocked and all.

“Correction.” You sniff haughtily. “What hasn’t she done this time?”

With a roll of your eyes, you trudge further into the room and throw yourself down onto one of the many exercise benches scattered around the well-sized gym. Edna might be old but she moves efficiently and meticulously across the large room, nodding at all the right points in your speech as you continue to fill her in on your most recent spat with Tanya.

She gives you a look, one that could be misconstrued as condescending, before asking, “And that explains you being barefoot, how?”

You smile sheepishly, thumbing the padding of the bench’s upholstery. “Just looking for an outlet, I guess.”

“There might be a better way, dear.” Motioning to the red punching bag suspended in the corner of the room, she leaves without a backward glance. You admired that about Edna, she usually said her piece and moved on, she didn’t hover. If only everyone could be like that.  

“What the hell,” You mumble aloud. “I could use the workout.”

Quietly crossing the room, you toe the padded mat that you’d seen more than once used for sparring and hand to hand combat before moving closer towards the punching bag. Negan obviously loved this thing as though it was obviously old, the leather still shined and smelled faintly of polish.

You’d often gotten the chance when you were walking by to see him in action. Fists flying in a complex maneuver, he practically danced around the thing; seemingly moving to a silent rhythm as he immersed himself in his favorite pastime. You envied that. There weren’t many things in this life that you could lose yourself in anymore. 

The boxing gloves practically engulf your small hands, the weight seeming to only slow you down when you tentatively throw the first punch. A small smile finds its way onto your lips because this is crazy and you tended to be accused of that often by the other girls in Negan’s harem. Really, you just thought you were the only one left with a sense of free will. But barefooted and clad in only a short black dress, you could get behind this crazy. 

It wasn’t so hard once you got a count going in your head, you tried to mimic what you’d seen Negan doing so many times before and when Tanya’s face popped into your head—you were golden. 

Her words play like an anthem to your work out: _‘Negan was an animal last night, he couldn’t get enough of me. Personally—between us girls—I think he’s just not as satisfied as he could be.’_  

Your fist lands where you imagine her right eye to be and an underhanded swing hits her right in the gut. By the time you’ve worked up a small sweat, you’re grinning and fully set on the idea that the next time Tanya pisses you off, you’ll head here. 

Or, if she really did something to upset you—you’d show her your left hook.

“Double score!” You cheer aloud, jumping only slightly when a slow clap fills the room. Holding up your fists defensively, you spin on your heels, only to be assaulted by the familiar face of your husband. 

“Holy shit, princess!” He croons, eyes twinkling. He’s somehow fit his long frame against the doorway of the gym, arms and ankles crossed as he watches you with a vaguely heated expression. “Look at you, a regular Muhammad Ali. Didn’t know you had it in you…”

“Fuck off, Negan. I told you not to call me that.” You say, trying and failing to not let your annoyance from earlier seep into your words. He’s like a blaring reminder of all your insecurities that Tanya had made rear its ugly head.

But besides your irrational, er, _reaction_ , you really did hate that he called you ‘princess.’ The very namesake implied that you were some wallowing, prissy little girl tucked away in a tower. 

You weren’t comfortable with the number of characteristics you shared with those storybook characters. He knew that but kept at it constantly. 

“Sorry, princess.” He doesn’t bother to hide the way he adjusts himself in his jeans as he steps closer. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

His little nickname also seemed to imply that you were somehow treasured—which you weren’t. A wave of heat immerses you like a car careening full speed into a ravine and your small fingers clench inside the boxing gloves. 

Why not? He’d given you weirder requests. Raising your fists, you move to pull another punch but stop short when he presses his frame tightly against yours. You want to protest and push him away. Your first instinct is to tell him to go run along and find someone that actually satisfies him…

So why is it you find yourself leaning into the firm contours of his muscles as the feeling of his hard erection nuzzles the cleft of your ass.

“You’re doing it wrong.” He finally chimes in and with a gritting of your teeth, you wrench yourself from him and turn, only to come face to face with his overbearing grin.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to interrupt.”

“That was before I saw how shitty your form was,” He smirks, watching your eyes widen at his blatant honesty. 

‘ _You’re no good at anything.’_ Tanya’s voice chimes in your head. 

“Sometimes I really just want to hit you in your stupid smirking face,” You find yourself blurting out, angrily removing the gloves from your hands and throwing them down onto the mat.

“So why don’t you?” He interrupts, head cocked and voice now significantly lower. 

“What,” You ask breathless, fighting to ignore the way your stomach clenches at the heated look he’s giving you, “like now?”

He rolls his expressive eyes, mirth mingling with the slow heat that resides in his irises. “No shit, princess.” 

“Don’t be such a smartass.” You hiss, your emotions now warring between arousal and aggravation. 

“Go on, fight me. I dare you.” He coaxes.

Against your better judgment, your right-hand clenches into a fist and pulls back. Negan’s eyes seem to shimmer, the mood shifting with the acceptance of his challenge.

Well, you’d show him.

“Lucky shot,” He grunts. He’d been so captivated with your balled fists that he’d completely missed the fidgeting of your left foot. As your knee connects with his groin, you give a small cheer of triumph. Finally, you held the upper hand in the relationship. Though you could admit, it was of a destructive nature—

“Negan, what the shit?” You screech when you finally catch your breath, you’re sprawled out on the padded mat and while the impact hadn’t hurt that much, it certainly had taken you off guard. 

“I love it when you struggle,” He hums. Both his hands seem to cage you in and he carefully lowers his full weight onto your smaller body, nuzzling his nose against the expanse of exposed skin along your neck as you continue to squirm. 

The hemline of your dress rises as he bears down slightly, the zipper of his jeans rubbing deliciously against your clit. You still for a moment, your bewildered stare reflected in his glittering eyes. 

At his shit eating grin, your struggles renew. 

“Bastard,” You hiss, “anyone could walk by and see us!” Doing the only maneuver that could take him off guard, your small hands lurch for his underarms and he lets out a surprised shout as you wrench him sideways when he reaches to shield his armpits. The Savior’s big and fearless leader is ticklish, go figure. Acting fast, you scramble onto his chest and practically straddle his neck in a haste to win this—whatever _this_ is. 

“Let’m!” He groans, or at least you assume as it appears muffled. Negan’s attention had done a full 360, you realize, the grip on your upper thighs tightening to pull your crotch firmly against his mouth.

The thought that he might have planned this briefly crosses your mind before his hot tongue snakes out, licking along the seam of where your upper thigh meets the apex of your sex. It’s a hot persistent pressure that has you gasping out for more. His deep chuckle sends sparks of electricity straight into your core as you rock against his searching tongue. 

Negan mumbles incoherent ramblings, pressing groans into your wet flesh as he tugs the scrap of lace covering your pussy aside, his two digits working in tandem to tap that spot that has your back arching.

Gritting your teeth and forcing your mind to center, you tug a handful of his dark locks in your fist, forcing him to look you in the eyes. Dilated and heated, they take a moment to focus on you, his mouth suckling your clit, when you ask, “Do you like the taste of my pussy?”

The irrational need to prove Tanya wrong is overwhelming. 

His only answer is a groan so animalistic that you shiver, almost losing your self in the feeling. You’re not sure what you’re doing, you only know that the look in his eyes makes it so that you can’t back out now. 

You steel your resolve. “Tell me.”

“Taste like fuck’n heaven, princess. Can I have some more?” He pleads, wincing when you grip a fistful of his hair a little tighter. 

“You may.” Not wasting time, he moves to envelop your clit, the soft pink of his lips reddened by his efforts only for him to stop short at your command. “No, stiffen your tongue.”

Pressing your hand gingerly against the punching bag to keep your balance, you lower yourself onto his stiffened tongue. There’s no hiding your modesty, anyone could walk by the open doorway and become knowledgeable of the magical things Negan could do with his tongue. It takes all your effort to not scream out when he intentionally hums, vibrating the appendage within you as he pushes the offending material of your dress farther up your waist.

“I’m cumming,” You gasp, mentally releasing any apprehensions you might have had before this started as you pull the front of your dress down to bare your breasts to the room, rolling the hardened peaks of your breast. “And you better swallow it all.” You demand, intentionally mimicking his patented phrase. 

You take no prisoners, grinding against his face wildly, the stubble of his beard bluntly scraping along your swollen wet nub. You want to scream, it’s all so overwhelming. The grip Negan has on one hip, the other hand firmly massaging the cheeks of your ass. So you settle for a muted groan, loving the way he returns it in kind as you squirm above him. Finally, with a soft moan, you weakly crawl from your perch and collapse next to him on the mat. 

“Fuck’n shit!” Negan laughs somewhat breathlessly wiping your juices from his face and massaging his stiff jaw. “I’m so fucking hard, princess. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

You’ve never seen him like this, eyes searching and breath labored. He reaches for you only to halt in his movements, remembering that you’re the one in control. This is your game.

“Come here, I’ll show you.” You urge, coming to rest on your hands and knees beside him. “Like this and keep your hands behind your back.”

At your ordering, he shuffles closer while eagerly pushing at his jeans and freeing himself. The silkened head of his member nudges impatiently at your center while he waits for your next mandate. Pressing against him, he bucks back, encouraging the contact as your fingers wrap around the base of his cock.

You chance a glance over your shoulder, willing yourself not to lose your nerve only to practically choke at his heated stare. He’s an absolute sin. A caged lion in chains, you note, eyes catching the tension beneath the bulging of his biceps in his effort to keep his wandering hands at bay. His voice gritty, he asks, “Are you going to fuck me, princess?”

“If you’re good for me.” You’re surprised at how steady your voice is as you guide him toward your slick opening, the evidence of how thrilling this new situation is to you coats your upper legs. “Will you be good for me, Negan?”

“I’ll be anything you want me to be.” He murmurs. 

Your grip on him tightens for a brief moment as you savor this moment of control, pressing back and beginning to envelop his turgid length. 

“Holy fuck!” He spits. 

You agree with his sentiment. The walls of your sex tighten and envelope his cock in a tight embrace. God, it’d been so long. You’d forgotten how good this felt.

“Deeper.” If you’re not mistaken, you swear he’s begging. 

_If Tanya could see you now…_

Stilling, you regard him quietly before moving a hand to his hip to still the unintentional rocking. 

“I’m fucking you.” You wait for his nod before pressing both of your hands into the mat and steadying yourself as you begin to rock your hips, the slapping of wet skin against one another beginning to fill the gym. 

“You’re fucking me,” He groans in agreement, the slight breathiness of that last vowel causes the heat in the pit of your belly to pool over dangerously. No longer able to hold your body weight, you go down onto your elbows, the thin layer of sweat on your skin making it harder to gain purchase on the padded mat. And as the hardened tips of your breasts brush against the cool mat, you reach under to firmly rub your clit in circles.

“Harder, _harder_ , oh fuck.” You chant, not caring how close he may be to his release. Today you would be selfish. “Keeping fucking me while I c-cum.”

Negan’s only response is a stifled groan, raising onto his haunches and thrusting mercilessly as your pussy convulses around his stony cock. The pulsating carries him through his own release as he jerks within you, grinding his pubic bone relentlessly against your ass. 

“Ahhh, that’s it, princess.” He growls from behind you, never once touching you as the last of his release is spent within you. His thrusts eventually slow and he collapses wordlessly beside you, panting softly. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

You shrug. “I needed an outlet for my anger.”

“What had you so angry, princess?” His eyes are like slow to melt, rich chocolate and as you gaze back, wordlessly studying his serene, _satisfied_ face; you give a little laugh.

Tanya was so full of shit. 

“I can’t remember.” You smirk, watching his expression change as you climb atop his still prone frame. “Round two? We’ll even use the gloves this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos make me write better and faster! I just love hearing what you guys have to say. x


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